Strategy
by Laurensdy
Summary: Morgan gives Reid some sparring advice.


"Point," Morgan said flatly. "Match."

Reid tore the Velcro dryly from one side of his red foam helmet. "This is ridiculous."

"You're not focusing," Morgan countered, ripping the fasteners on his blue gloves. "Quit staring at your targets."

Reid shot him a glare, his mouth a thin line. Chest heaving, he too pulled off his gloves. "You either let me win, or kick my ass. I told you; the self defense tactics I have are plenty."

"This isn't self defense; it's sparring," Morgan released the strap on his soleless boot. "What happens if your self defense has to last more than ten seconds?"

"The chances that any altercation with an UnSub will last longer than six to eight seconds is less than one in—"

"Reid," Morgan stopped him, "it's a good skill to have."

"Shouldn't I be studying with someone more on my level?" Reid sucked back half a bottle of water, wiping beads of sweat from his brow with the free forearm.

"No," Morgan took a swig from his own small jug. "I'm a black belt. This way you get all the attention."

Reid gave him a flat look. "Why do I feel like that's an excuse for you to beat me up?"

"Gimme a break," Morgan scoffed, "You just haven't tapped into your inner warrior yet." He picked up Reid's red glove, holding it out to him.

"I don't have an inner warrior," Reid grumbled, snatching it.

Morgan jumped up and down, shaking his arms to get the blood flowing again. "Just keep at it. Look for possible attack points."

"Just don't _look_ at them," Reid added ruefully, stepping back onto the mat.

Morgan jabbed once left, twice right. He hopped back and forth agilely. Reid stood fixed, his hands in a constant guard. He cautiously brought up a leg.

"Do something!" Morgan yelled. "Kick me!" Reid slapped at Morgan's thigh with the top of his foot. "Good—point!"

Morgan jabbed at him a few more times. "Move around—don't wait to get hit!"

Reid jerkily tried to match Morgan's sweeping circle on the mat, his guard never wavering.

"C'mon!" Morgan coaxed. "Hit me!"

Reid lunged forward, but Morgan easily blocked him. "Don't watch your targets." Reid swung at him, first with his right and then with his left, striking the second time. "Good—point!" Reid waited a few more seconds, then a blue fist collided lightly with his chestplate. "Point. Keep your block up!"

Reid maneuvered around the mat, breathing heavily and trying to think of a way to chisel through Morgan's defense. Just as he launched another frontal assault, though, the Velcro strap on his red foam shoe caught in the crack between two mats. With a startled yell, Reid fell to the floor, the sparring gear making an airy slap as it landed flatly on the mat.

"Are you okay?" Morgan panted, rushing over to help him up. "It looked like your shoe came off."

"I tripped," Reid said breathlessly. "The Velcro came off."

Morgan grabbed his fellow agent's wrist, pulling him up. "You were doing really good, though."

"When, when I faceplanted?" Reid asked sarcastically, earning a light slap on his shoulder. "Your defense is watertight."

Morgan released his chinstrap. "But eventually I will have to move to attack, and when I do, I will leave a spot open. It's impossible not to."

"It's impossible to do all this stuff _and_ defend my own self," Reid protested, reaching for his water again.

Morgan didn't answer, looking into space and concentrating. When he found his thought, he turned back to Reid and opened his mouth.

"Think of it like Chess." Reid's brow furrowed. "We both go in with a strategy—you have yours, I have mine. You use your strategy to try and penetrate mine, playing to your offense and my defense." He shoved the blue helmet on tighter. "And the goal is to always be five steps ahead."

Reid nodded slowly, refastening his helmet. "Okay."

He pulled the red shoe on correctly, hobbling back toward the mat. He licked his lip, nodding again. "Okay."

Morgan slithered toward Reid, his limbs a controlled frenzy of jabs and blocks. He jerked his hips, raising a foot or knee now and then. Reid didn't move. But unlike before, when his face had been awkwardly straining and his eyes frantic, his gaze was focused, set. Ready.

Morgan approached, attacking with a roundhouse kick and hammerfist punch. But the second his hips generated movement, Reid reacted.

He swept Morgan's shin away with a lower level block, grazing the punch with the opposite arm and meeting Morgan with a backhand strike. He jutted one of his bony hips forward, knocking Morgan's frame off balance and away.

"Nice," Morgan admitted, backing up to try again. "Point." Reid said nothing, his eyes set fixed and hard on something Morgan couldn't see.

Morgan tried again, faking jabs with his left and committing with his right. Reid still didn't move, his right leg moving glacier-slow as he shifted his weight off it.

The moment Morgan came within range, Reid effortlessly swung up his leg, the red foam-covered foot gracefully slapping Morgan's left temple—light enough to be controlled but hard enough to let Morgan know he meant business. Because his legs were so flexible and his athletic pants so baggy, there was almost no precipatory movement.

"Nice," Morgan repeated, with a little less gusto, shaking his head slightly and backing up again. "Point."

Morgan didn't advance this time, and a few silent moment passed where each man just stood there, staring at the other. Then Reid, his face still fixed in concentration, took a calculated step forward.

Morgan took the bait, edging forward with a few quick punches. After Reid gently swatted them out of the way, Morgan was forced to come forward to implement his other hand. And when he did, Reid shirked his block and landed a fist in Morgan's stomach.

"Oomph," Morgan coughed, retreating. "Point."

"Match," Reid smiled, pulling his helmet off. His hair was damp with sweat, and matted down to his head.

Morgan unfastened his gloves and shoes, tossing them into a bag with his other gear. "Next time I won't go easy on you, Pretty Boy."

Reid shrugged. "My inner warrior happens to be a Chess master, that's all."


End file.
